Setting out for the ruins at 6am and leaving Blake's large pack in the dutch's tent, with only the detachable fanny pack to carry, we quickly ascended up the mountain. It was still a challenge for me, I wasn´t exactly tip-top shape after the nights festivities, but still I progressed much more fluidly than before. After a couple of hours we made it to a stream running down from the high mountains and decided it was likely safe enough to fill our now empty water bottles with, better this we thought than pay the 14 or 16 soles for a new bottle at the next camp.A short distance later we passed a wooden gate with old flip-flops nailed into it for hinges and began walking on a dirt path passing land that had recently been cleared for growing food of various types. Then we came upon another wooden fence, where there was a
nother old woman walking between mud brick buildings. She spotted us and came to the gate, opening it with a noticeable glimmer in her smile. ¨Where are you from?¨ she asked in spanish. California we replied, ¨ahh the United States!¨ again in spanish. Welcoming us to the table she asked what we would like and we ordered soup, Blake with an egg and mine without.Seeing all the wild chickens about, happy and free, Blake sighed audibly and said in a condescending manner, ¨danny you know if there was ever a time to eat eggs it would be here and now¨ Seeing the truth in his words and in the situation, knowing how badly my muscles needed rich proteins to rebuild themselves, I agreed and joined the lady in the hut to increase our order of eggs. After all, I´m mostly a vegetarian because of my disgust with the corporate farming done in the States, and these chickens look like they've never seen the inside of a cage in their entire lives.The soup was angel hair pasta with carrots and potatoes, totally delicious, and the eggs were just as great, opening them up they were a dark and rich orange, even more so than those I remember from Germany, but that's probably just my 3 year absentee biased showing through the cracks of my memory. We thanked the lady very much for the meal and continued on up the mountain. Very shortly after that we made it to the guides house were we paid the 37 soles each to get in. I left my water there, but we still had 2 bottles left. The ruins could be seen from this part of the mountain, but we still had to hike another 20 minutes to reach the first of the terraces lining the hills.Deciding to go to the very top of the lookout first we made it to the rounded turret that looked out over the entire valley. At the end of the circle there was a sign that read, Casa do sacridol or something like that, I thought it was the house of sacrifice but that's not the translation so I can't really say. Anyways, we went down the hill to the house and got on top of the wall where the roof used to be, setting up his speakers, Blake bumped the music and we danced along the edges to the beat. At this time we were the only people in the ruins.Upon returning to the main part we met up with the dutch couple and shared travel stories. They had already been traveling for 7 months and were set to go for another 7, going next to California, Hawaii and then Japan. We asked them if they had heard about Ayahuasca and they asked if it was another hike in Peru, we explained that it was a Shamanistic plant and they quickly dismissed the idea, stating that they were tired of everyone assuming they were into drugs because they were from the Netherlands. Then they told us a story about their relative who thought he could fly on drugs and jumped off a building, becoming extremely sensitive to all stimulus in his legs, even the wind on his legs could cause extreme pain. "If that happened to me I'd just have the doctors chop my leg off and attach a bionic one." said Blake, I mostly concurred..We wished them well and headed back to the hut for more soup, and more eggs. The ruins were nice after all, but we were more interested in the pain in our bodies and the promise of returning home to our warm, dry beds in Cusco. My water bottle was just where I left it, I grabbed it and shortly after we were back at the house. This time there were two Peruvians also sitting down at the table. We joined them and introduced ourselves. The older one spoke English well and explained that he and his friend were guides for the Choquequrio ruins. Both of them were drinking some murky liquid that filled a pitcher on the table. "you want to try?" they asked. It has alcohol? I questioned after smelling the stuff. "no, no, it is all natural!" Blake and I both partook and turned to each other with a knowing glance, "it may not have alcohol but drinking it will get you drunk," Blake said aloud.Blake ordered 2 more pitchers and we very quickly got to know our new friends. They explained that what we were drinking was chicha, an ancient maze beer drank by the Incans in their own time. A pitcher was 4 soles or $1.33 it was incredibly smooth and barely tasted of alcohol, but it was most definitely getting us all drunk. The two had already had 3 or 4 pitchers before we arrived and were very open and relaxed. The younger one would interrupt whatever conversation we were having every so often and apologize for his lack of English skills, the more we drank the more frequent the apologeze became, eventually to the point of his elder taking him aside and making clear we understood his lack of communication skills, whether in English or any other form and that he should complete the experience in a slumped state of silent bliss.The elder guide suggested we descend slowly and reach the camp above the river on the other side leading back to cochora, where there would be much fewer miquitos and it would be cooler. We thanked them for the advice and for sharing the experience and descended slowly as he suggested, which was a little difficult for how loose we were in our steps, which is precisely why he suggested it. By the time we made it to the bottom it was already getting dark, but we pressed on, hoping to meet his suggestion and make it to the next camp.We had to use a headlamp in the final stretch of the climb, and when we made it to the camp there was no one there to meet us, only a dim light hanging from the inside of the hut, we called inside to greet whoever was there, but no reply was given. We went around the hut and on to one of the terraces and set up our tent, it immediately began to rain. By this time I was already showing signs of a cough, I tried my best to drink plenty of water and unfortunately did not cover myself well enough, leaving my feet and arms exposed to the many insects I allowed to enter our leaking, REI garage sale tent..
Choquequirao - Taking on Water
When we decided to come to Cusco, it was to climb Matchu Pitchu, after arriving here in this beautiful high mountain city and talking to the people who actually live here, we've been swayed away from the "old mountain" and directed towards a different climb, one only recently discovered, known as Choquequirao, one of the last hold outs against the spanish colonization.So we headed out early from Ninoskas to catch the transport out of cusco, but that turned out to be completely unnecessary because there wasnt enough people to fill the van until almost 12 noon. There was a little hole in the wall toilet that a burly old Peruvian woman stood guard at next to us, I asked our drive how much it cost to use the toilet, he told me but i didn't understand, so he reached into his pocket shuffled through the coins he pulled out and poured the exact change into my hand. I protested but he just smiled and walked away.I would have been more grateful in the long run had we not discovered he was charging us both 10 soles ($3) more than everyone else for the ride. Or at least that's how I see it now, since the same ride back was 10 soles less... who knows.So after an hour and a half we reached the valley where a large road reconstruction project was underway. We had to wait an hour to pass but during that time we got out and followed our drivers example by partaking in the locally produced ice cream, which was essentially sugar-water frozen in thin plastic tubes that you can bite or squeeze to extract the precious chilled substance, precious only due to the heat I should add.
Hours later we made it to Curawasi where we bought mangos and baby peaches for our trek, a sad cargo list to be sure, but head strong young men we are yet, so on we went from there in a taxi to Raymon, a small little side street village where we were to get our next taxi to Cachora. Our driver quickly shuffled us into his relic Toyota wagon and drove towards Cachora without a word of price uttered. When I asked him the price he told us 30 soles, which I immediately refuted and told him 10 each, he didn't like this at all, so I told him to turn around, which he liked even less... after a somewhat intense exchange of misunderstood or not understood at all remarks we turned back to Raymond. We picked up two more locals and were on our way yet again. We coasted down the mountain, almost all the way with the engine cut off, finally making it to Cachora. When we did we saw the locals give the driver 5 soles and when we gave him 10 each he asked for 20 more! we just shook our heads and walked towards the small shop closest to us. He followed of course, every odd minute repeating his mantra, "20 more.." I gave him a baby peach and made clear nothing more would be forthcoming from us with a slightly cocked head and a tired looking 1000 yard stare. He made his way back to the relic and drove away back to the beginning of town. We got a sack of uncooked potatoes at the small shop, along with some more water, we also inquired about the mule to carry our bags but in the end decided that we would do fine without it, a mistake we would almost immediately come to understand as near tragedy.We took off down the hill and made our way on to the trail. After a few confusing forks in the road we made it to the main trail. Passing a few steers on the way, one of which lowered its head at Blake and had us both looking for the nearest tree to climb, or rock to bash its head in with, (ridiculous of course, but that's how we think) We made it to the edge of a mountain side, where the last house for miles could be seen, the sky was darkening and rain was on our mind, we asked the old couple that manned the house where we could camp, the staunch, storm weathered faces of the old couple squinted in the direction of where we were to camp, a small outcropping cleared for the cows to rest, protected by the hillside from the wind it seemed the perfect place. We camped out and laid ourselves down, as soon as we did it began to rain, the streaks of lightning across the sky were astonishing and the thunder that followed no less spectacular. We counted the intervals to determine their distances, and quickly discovered that they were happening all around us at many different distances. Trying to sleep, we quickly discovered that we were not truly sheltered from the elements, leaks sprang from every corner of our tent, one of which came right beneath my head, a small hole allowed a constant stream of water to soak my down sleeping bag. We quickly got up and tried to remedy the matter, but we had nothing to stop the leak, until I remembered my tendency to put band aids from the Seven Gables Inn in my wallet for the numerous cuts and scratches I acquired their, luckily I had one left, not to be screwed again later I tore it in half and used it to stem the icy tide of water flowing into my sleeping bag. Several other things kept us up in the night, a car stopping directly above us and staying there, lights shining into out tent, more water finding its way in, not to mention the 7 continuous hours of rain that fell on our tent and the intermittent roar of thunder piercing our ears. All in all though, we were happy to be away from the pollution and bustle of Cusco...